That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore
by LongSnakeMoan
Summary: When Anthony DeMartino loses everything and decides to end it all he realises that life is the greatest joke of all. Written originally for a Halloween IC on the PPMB the basis of this stems from possibly the greatest origin story of all time.


"Mr DeMartino, it is my sad duty to tell inform you that as of next month you will be relieved of your duties as History teacher at Lawndale High. Due to budget cuts and your, how shall I say, aggressive teaching methods I have no choice but to let you go."

Budget cuts and teaching methods his ass. The fact he was the union leader and that he was the only teacher in this hole that told Angela Li where to go, that was the reason he was being fired. He'd dreamed of this day, the day he would walk of the school a free man and never have to look back even if the place burned down around him. He even had a speech prepared that he would read out on his final day. But now that the moment was at hand he felt bereft, lost looking at the vast stretch if time in front of him. He was forty six years old, he could have thirty years left with no job and no hope. He didn't want to end up like his father, wandering in and out of hostels clutching a bottle of whatever was cheapest. Blind panic battled grief inside him and he was reduced to staring at this woman, this monster in front of him. Behind her fake concern she could barely contain her glee.

" I'm very sorry Anthony. It's nothing personal you'll understand."

He rose from his chair and with the last of his dignity turned his back on her and walked out the door in silence, gulping back his sobs. He'd be damned if her gave her the satisfaction of seeing him cry. He was determined to get his things and walk out the school with his head held high and finally do something with his life, listing the reasons in his head why this was good for him. No more idiot kids who didn't know today's date, let alone D Day. No more loathsome colleagues, who spanned the range between being completely spineless and outright lunacy. He could finally live his life at sea. Sell his house, buy a boat and just take off. The absolute joy of freedom. He made up his mind to leave and never look back. He got as far as the art department before he looked at Claire's paint splattered door, the remnants of a thousand art classes, and his resolve failed. He staggered through, desperate for contact with the one person in the world he didn't actively despise, the one person he... Claire was sitting at the school's sole working kiln, creating some beautiful, exquisite vase that like her was too good for this place. She glanced up at him and smiled, wonderful despite the huge streak of yellow paint running up her left cheek, before her expression changed into one of concern as she took in Anthony's blood shot eyes, bright with the still held back tears.

"Anthony, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What _wrong_? I've been fired Claire. The official line is budget cuts and teaching methods but _that's_ not the reason, not with Li, oh no. The reason is that I won't take any of her _lies_ and her greed. She doesn't give a _damn_ about this school, or these kids, whether we _churn_ out the next president or the next Charles Manson doesn't make much difference to her as long as she can install high _security_ fences round the place and turn this school into _Colditz_."

"Oh Anthony."

"What's that supposed to mean? Don't you _dare_ pity me. You don't know what it's like, to have given your _all_ for so long only have it thrown back in your face, to _fail_ at everything you've ever attempted with _nothing_ to show for it when most _men_ your age are married with three kids. You don't know... you don't know anything...you don't."

He ran over to where she sat and fell to his knees, the long threatened tears spilling down his cheeks. Craving solace, he slid his arms round her waist and buried his head in her stomach muffling the sound of his sobs as he clung to her. He sobbed "I'm sorry" over and over again as she pushed her hands through his hair and stroked his head, accepting every emotion and soothing him with calm words that he barely heard as he clung to her, scared to let her go. He smelt the warm of the kiln and the distant floral fragrance of her perfume and he felt himself calm, it was impossible to stay agitated round Claire. It was one of the reasons why he loved her, there he'd admitted it. She gently pushed her fingers under his chin and made him look at her. She had the kind, serene face of the statues of the Holy Virgin he remembered from his childhood and he took her soft hands, pressing them to his lips.

"I'm sorry Claire."

"Don't be. You listen to me, you are not a failure. You are the strongest, wisest, most determined man I've ever met and you will get through this and if you ever feel yourself falling then you know I'll always be there with you. You will get through this, we will get through this. We can go live on that boat like you talked about, just us with no interfering colleagues or kids. Maybe I'll get to hear you laugh more, I like it when you laugh."

He felt himself smile and pushed himself up so he could count the freckles on her cheeks and see the cracks in the yellow paint deepen as she smiled back. He ran his hand through the thick, red tangle of curls and kissed her lightly. She rested her forehead on his and caught his other hand with her own.

"I have to finish this off and then I'm going to go and have a nice long bath before we go out tonight. I heard there's a nice spot near that chemical plant where we can drive to and make out. I bet we could put these kids to shame." She grinned as he let out a small chuckle at the thought of them being caught by some of their students and the trauma that would inflict. "I'll call you when I've done and then we can go out. How about it?"

"I look forward to it. Call me when you're ready and I'll pick you up."

He leaned in and kissed her again before heaving himself from the floor and idled out the room, glancing back to see her resume her pottery, a slow dreamy smile on her face.

A hard ring pierced the silence of the house and echoed around his still kitchen. A quick glance to the clock confirmed it was ten thirty and DeMartino silently grumbled to himself that Claire had taken her sweet damn time about getting ready. Then again he wouldn't put it past those deadbeats she went to college with to have shown up again, despite the fact he'd got rid of them for her. Damn hippies, it was the 90s now, get a job. He snatched up the phone from the cradle and shoved it under his ear as he fumbled looking for his keys.

"Hello."

"Hello. Is this Mr Anthony DeMartino?"

"Yes. May I ask who is calling?"

"Mr DeMartino, this is Bernard Defoe, you know my niece Claire?"

"I do. Is something the matter Mr Defoe?"

"She's..." DeMartino heard the man on the end of the line stifle a sob and a cold feeling of dread passed through him "There's been an accident at the school. There was a fault with one of the cables in her art room and when she unplugged it she got a shock. She's gone...she's gone. My brother said she spoke about you and that you two may have been involved. I got your number from the book, I thought you should know she's... Hello? Hello?"

He felt his legs give way and he slumped to the floor in a heap, leaving the phone hanging from its cord, swinging above him as he let out a broken, strangulated scream that seemed to run through the house. He curled into a ball on the floor and lay groaning and weeping as he slowly began to realise he had lost everything and the ground seemed to fall from under him. He felt an overwhelming desire to be near her now, even though he knew she was lying on some mortuary slab somewhere, he wanted to be with her somehow. Not the school, not where he'd left her and they'd found her, not where her life had ended. Not her apartment, not without her being there. He dragged himself from the floor and stumbled from his house, he'd decided to go the place she'd joked about going to that night, the make out spot near the chemical plant. She'd protested against them building that so near a local beauty spot, it was her idea of a little joke to suggest it. Well, that's where he was going and somehow, almost as if she was behind him pushing him along, he found himself there. Further down the little clearing there was a little red sports car. No doubt containing two over privileged oxygen stealers, walking around as she lay cold somewhere. He hated them, hated everyone at that moment. Those kids, Li for putting everyone's safety at risk by cutting corners, every happy couple in the world, even Claire for dying and leaving him. He looked at the chemical plant and though of the vats within, full of violent mixtures that would strip away at his flesh and his bones and leave no trace that Anthony DeMartino ever existed. Just oblivion, that's what he wanted, the eternal darkness.

Tormented by thoughts of her, her last small smile as he'd walked out the door. Their last kiss, he wished he'd kissed her properly. The fact he'd never told her how he felt, it all mocked him as he pushed the gates of the plant open. Like everything in Lawndale that didn't belong to the Sloanes security at the plant was depressingly lax, he just walked right in and saw that the night guard was too engrossed in what looked like a porno on his screen to care. He walked over to the huge metal factory doors and pushed them open, bracing himself for the alarm. When none came he silently thanked God that should anyone ever want to destroy Lawndale he'd be long gone and walked up the stairs that led him to the long observation walkways above the vats. He wasn't going to waste time wondering what the hell each vat was and looked over the railings of the first one and down into a bubbling green mass. That'll do. He hooked one leg over the railing and hesitated for a second, the finality of what he was about to do hitting him, before he shook it away. There was nobody left to care anyway and brought his other leg over. He took one last deep breath and as an image of her flashed across his mind he let go of the railings and DeMartino tumbled through the air towards a vat of toxic chemical waste. For a second it almost felt like he was flying before he hit the chemicals that dragged him under. He expected some pain, burning at least but all he felt was the warmth of sun on his skin as the darkness claimed him for its own.

Seconds later his head broke the surface and despite his desire to die, biology took over and he gasped greedily for air. He sank under again briefly, willing himself to sink but was forced upwards again. This time he fought against the motion of the chemicals and swam over to the ladder at the side before hauling himself upwards and climbed out of the tank. He fell the last few steps and he hit the ground painfully before rolling onto his hands and knees as the first wave of vomit hit the back of his throat. A green, watery liquid spewed onto the grey concrete floor and pooled around his hands as he threw up wave after wave of noxious bile. When at last this had subsided he crawled over to the doors he'd come in through, the skin on his knees scraping against the rough floor through the holes in his trousers, before pulling himself up on the cold rail and staggering out into the main yard. The same force that seemed to have dragged him to this place was now intent on pulling him out and he almost fell through the side gate. He didn't care if alarms went off now, in fact he rather hoped they did. It could be quite a bit of fun facing Lawndale's most inept security guards and a giggle rose up in his throat. He'd failed as a soldier, failed as a teacher and failed to kill himself in a chemical vat. She, what was her name again? Well anyway, she was gone, dead, rotting in pieces and he couldn't even do that. It was all so funny. Love, marriage, children, jobs, money, status, friends, enemies, peace, war. It all meant nothing. Everything anyone ever hoped and dreamed for and it is just a joke and all he could do was laugh at the punchline. He slowly began to chuckle to himself as he looked across the empty streets towards the pinpricks of lights in the houses, how pointless the struggles of the inhabitants within are, how he could wipe out every single man, woman and child within them and still the world would carry on turning. Ah ha ha, he he, it's all mad. Delightfully, wickedly, gleefully mad. A joke. They just don't get the joke. Not yet anyway.

He walked down the deserted street and caught his reflection in the mirror for sale in an antique shop. His greying hair and blue eyes had both turned a vivid, deep green, deeper than any emerald could ever hope to be. His olive skin had been bleached and burnt to a ghostly white, the same colour as the chalk he vaguely remembered using in whatever it was he did before. But his mouth, oh his mouth. His lips were a deep red, as if all his blood in his body had risen to his mouth, the same mouth that was now stretched back into a wide, permanent demented grin. He took deep gulps of breath as he pushed his bleached hands through the sides of hair and an uncontrollable laughter broke through him at the sight of himself and echoed into the night.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha  
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ."

"Are you alright?"

Through his laughter he tilted his head back and saw a bald young man wearing a long green top and a nose ring. He probably thought he looked good, he looked laughable. The sight of him set off another peal of laughter and he saw the other man visible flinch at his appearance. How rude? He needs to lighten up, enjoy the joke too. Speaking of which.

"Would you like to hear a joke?"

"Um." he said, confusion flitting across his face. "Sure, why not."

"A man walks into a library and asks the librarian if they have any books on how to commit suicide. The librarian looks at the man and says "Screw you, you'll never bring it back."

He looked at him laughing all the while and his laughter faded as the man looked at him with both confusion and contempt.

"Why aren't you laughing?"

"That's bad taste, man. My friend killed herself, not cool."

Within two paces he was on him and mercilessly beat the fool to the ground as he began to try to scream for help, shrill piercing screams . As he carried on hitting him he became more and more outraged at his reaction. It was a joke, everything is a joke. Even this now was joke. Didn't he have a sense of humour? What was wrong with this idiot? Why didn't he laugh, why isn't he laughing at his joke? After a while he noticed the man had gone limp and the life had gone from his eyes. The anger was again replaced by the urge to laugh, I bet this idiot wasn't expecting that when he left the house that night. He leaned over the body, laughing as he put his two index fingers into the dead man's mouth and pulled the sides back so that the wide grin matched his own.

"Smile."

**A/N: For all those who aren't aware of it, the basis of this fic is Alan Moore's 'The Killing Joke', widely thought to be the definitive Joker story. The idea in that formed the nucleus of the fic and I played around with it so it would fit in with DeMartino.**


End file.
